My Mom still lives in the house she and my Dad moved into when they got married. They moved into it right after they were finished building it. The neighborhood was still under construction.
Now, just over sixty years later, she is one of three original residents. I’m surprised there are that many.
Last week on my Sunday visit to Mom, she told me that one of the other originals had been found wandering about a mile from home. He’d gotten lost. I could totally understand why. It doesn’t look much like it used to. Neighborhoods have a life span. In the last five or ten years a lot of the shops and buildings have been torn down and replaced.
I feel for the guy. There’s more going on there than just unfamiliar buildings, but it would be so easy to sort of recognize a place and sort of not recognize it and get confused. The same thing has happened a couple of times when I’ve been driving Mom through areas she hasn’t been to in a while. Part of it was just because she was anxious to get home and part of it is just that she will never see me as an adult. I just had to bite my tongue and hang on tight to my patience.